I Hate Doctors Poem by The Queen's Dagger

What am I feeling?
This question keeps plaguing me
like a swarm of angry bees.
I do not know the answer.

One day, I am blue and depressed,
and the next I just want to jest.
They tell me I am sick with a disease
that I cannot even pronounce.

The Sanitary Ones who like green
and would use me as a machine,
they tell me I will have to stay.
There has to be another way.

So they medicate me again, again, again.
If I cannot say no,
then I must be saying so.
I can't take this anymore.

I rip the needles out of my arms,
and this sets off all of their alarms.
They run, but I am quicker.
I still do not know what I am feeling.